The Family - Mario Puzo [142]
“Astorre,” Cesare said, softly but with certainty, “I can’t be that for you. I know many good men who are soldiers, athletes, even cardinals, who have such relationships and enjoy them. But that is not who I am, Astorre. That I cannot give. I can be your loyal friend, but not more.”
“I understand, Cesare,” Astorre said, but now he stood, embarrassed and distraught. “I will leave for Rome tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Cesare said. “I think no less of you that you have claimed a love for me.”
“No, Cesare,” Astorre said. “I can no longer stay. I must either accept what you have said, and then it becomes too painful to be with you each day, or I must trick myself into believing there is hope. In that case I would keep trying for your attention until finally you became angry or, even worse, disgusted with me. No, I must go.”
At dawn the next day, Astorre shook the hand of each of the commanders. He turned to Cesare and embraced him, whispering in his ear, “Good-bye, my friend. My dreams will always be filled with what might have been.” Then, with a smile of affection, Astorre Manfredi swung into his saddle and rode south toward Rome.
That night, Cesare sat in his tent considering his next military target. When he realized that he had accomplished every goal his father had set for him, he knew the time had come for him to return to Rome.
Yet Cesare still had an appetite for conquest, as did his commanders, Vito Vitelli and Paolo Orsini. Now they urged him to attack Florence. Vitelli despised the Florentines, and Orsini wanted to restore the Medici, who had been longtime allies of his family. Cesare had a fondness for both Florence and the Medici—as well as loyalties from long ago. Still, he hesitated.
As the golden rays of morning sun filtered into his tent, Cesare considered his decision. Possibly Vitelli and Orsini were right; possibly they could take the city, and restore his Medici friends. But young and aggressive as he was, Cesare knew that an attack on Florence was an attack on France. Such an adventure would be foolhardy, for many lives would be lost; and even if he could take the city, the French would never let him keep it. Finally, he decided: rather than attacking the city, he would employ a strategy similar to the one he had used with the Bolognese.
He led his army southward into the Arno valley, bringing them, as at Bologna, to within a few miles of the city walls.
There the Florentine commander rode out to parley, accompanied by a small envoy of troops, with flags flying and the sun glinting off of their armor. Cesare saw them looking nervously at Vitelli’s cannons. He was certain they would want to avoid a battle. There was no castle or fort that Cesare sought, so this time he settled for a promise of a sizable annual payment, plus a continuing alliance against enemies of the Pope.
It was not a great victory. It had not restored the Medici. But still it was the right decision. And there were other lands to conquer.
Cesare now marched his army southwest to the coastal city of Piombino. Unable to defend itself against the powerful force of the papal army, another city quickly surrendered.
Afterward, still restless, Cesare walked along the docks of Piombino. There, off the coast, he could see the island of Elba, with its famous and richly fed iron mines. Here was a target he might take! What a splendid conquest the island would make! What a prize for his father! But it seemed an impossible task, for Cesare had no naval experience.
He was about to abandon his latest dream when he sighted three men riding toward him from the direction of Rome. With astonishment, at last he discerned who it was: his brother, Jofre, along with Michelotto and Duarte Brandao.
Jofre strode forward to greet him. To Cesare he seemed broader, and somehow older. He wore a green velvet doublet with green and gold particolored hose. His blond hair flowed out from under a green velvet biretta.